


Tasting Temptation

by xBlackxRosexRebellionx



Series: Tasting Temptation [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Not Suitable/Safe For Work
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-28 01:28:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20958179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xBlackxRosexRebellionx/pseuds/xBlackxRosexRebellionx
Summary: Zoey Malone has been Jonesing for her professor all year, but who could blame her? With that shaggy, black hair that brushed his shoulders and those full, sensual lips and those dark, chocolate colored eyes, he had probably starred in countless college girls' dreams. There was just something about that deep baritone rumbling out that thick Texas drawl that made her squirm in her seat. He was so smooth but sinful, like black velvet. She promised herself she would behave during their mandatory meeting to discuss her grades, but Zoey isn't the only one dying to taste temptation.





	Tasting Temptation

**_Well, I’ve always wanted to write a story about a girl who has a thing for her professor. And, even though it’s taken me YEARS_** **_to finally get around to it, here it is._**

** _As always, all comments, concerns, questions, or suggestions are more than welcome. I love the feedback and it certainly helps motivate me._ **

** **

** _Tasting Temptation_ **

** Forbidden Fruit **

_Taken down I give into what I can't disguise._  
I surrender. Oooo, I surrender.  
Broken down, I give into what I cannot have.  
I surrender. Oooo, I surrender.

  * _Surrender by Digital Daggers_

Zoey Malone swung her backpack over her shoulder and locked her bedroom door before stuffing her key ring into her pocket. She trotted down the stairs and headed for the kitchen of the townhouse she shared with her five closest friends and roommates. Her nostrils flared as she was greeted with the scent of corned beef hash frying in the skillet.

She found Jade standing at the kitchen stove, cooking breakfast but none of the other girls were anywhere to be seen.

“Well, good morning,” Jade greeted her, offering her a smile as she glanced back over her shoulder from her place at the stove.

“Morning,” Zoey replied, going over to pull her friend into a quick hug, “Where are the rest of the girls?”

“Still in bed,” Jay said with a laugh, “Thought I’d at least _offer _you breakfast since you’re the only one up. I know you’re not much of a breakfast person though.”

Zoey’s lips curled down into a pout as she informed her best friend, “It’s a really tempting offer. You know hash is my favorite, but I can’t. I have a meeting in forty-five minutes, and I don’t want to be late.”

“A meeting?” Jay questioned, her blonde brows furrowing, “But it’s Friday. You _never_ have class on Fridays.”

“I know,” Zoey explained, “But it’s one of those stupid mid-term meetings with the professor to discuss how I’m doing in class. Apparently, it’s a mandated thing now. They never made us do it as freshmen.”

Jay shrugged her shoulders, musing, “Yeah. But you always get good grades, so you shouldn’t have anything to worry about, you little good two shoes.”

Zoey giggled at that, shaking her head, and retorted, “Yeah. _Okay._ You and I _both _know I outdrank you last weekend.”

Jay pointed the spatula at her and insisted, “That was only because I was taking shots and you were drinking that fruity shit.”

Zoey rolled her eyes, stating, “Hey, I’ll have you know I took a couple shots in there in the middle somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Jay agreed, “Those apple pie shots were pretty good. But tequila is my weakness. You know how it goes. One tequila, two tequila, three tequila, floor.”

Zoey giggled once more, shaking her head at her friend, and opened her mouth to speak.

But Jay beat her to the punch, asking, “So which professor do you have to meet with today?”

“Actually, I have 3 meetings scheduled, but they’re all with the same professor. He’s my academic advisor too. I have a meeting for my Sensation and Perception class, my Behavioral Management class, and he wants to meet for my academic advising session too so we can get it all out of the way today.”

“Oh! That’s that hot new professor from Texas, right?” Jay inquired, her hazel eyes lighting up and a smile curling at her lips, “What’s his name again?”

“Ramsey,” Zoey answered, “Jon Ramsey. And yes, he’s the hot Texan.”

“The Hot Texan…. Hmm… So can I call him Tex? I kinda like it,” Jay teased, waggling her eyebrows playfully.

“Call him whatever you want,” Zoey replied, “There’s nothing going on there.”

“_Suuuure…” _Jay prompted, “So… You know when you’ll be back? Or should I wait up for you?”

“Pssh! Please!” Zoey cried, “As if! What the hell would he ever want with me, Jay? Besides, you know that shit’s grounds for dismissal from the college for a student and grounds for being fired and even having your teaching license revoked if you’re a professor.”

“Ahh… But that’s only if you get _caught,” _Jay pointed out, waggling her brows again.

“Yeah. Uh huh. Sure,” Zoey retorted, “And you know the kind of luck I have. Read my lips, Jaydakins. It’s _not _gonna happen. He’s not into me. And I’d never do it anyway.”

“And _that’s _why you’re a goody two shoes,” Jay razzed, crossing her eyes and sticking her tongue out to show that she was just teasing.

“No, that’s why I’m _smart,” _Zoey hinted, “But, I probably better get going. I’m gonna grab a hot chocolate before I go. It’s kinda chilly out there. Save me some hash?”

“You got it,” Jay called over her shoulder as Zoey headed for the door, tugging it open, “And good luck with Tex!”

Zoey shook her head as she headed out of the townhouse, rolling her whiskey colored eyes even as a smile tugged at her lips. Leave it to Jay.

Twenty minutes later, Zoey was climbing the last set of stairs in the University Hall Building. She shuffled the Styrofoam cups of hot cocoa so that she could tug the door open and enter the fourth floor of the building. Once inside, she navigated her way down the hallways until she located office 417. The words “Jon Ramsey – Psychology Professor and Academic Advisor” were etched into a plaque that was posted next to the door.

She took a deep breath, adjusted one cup to sit in the crook of her arm so that she would have a free hand, and raised her hand to knock on the door, which was left open just a crack.

“It’s open!” she heard a thick Texan drawl call from inside the office.

Taking another deep breath, Zoey steeled up the courage and pushed the door open.

She found him there, sitting in a chair behind his desk, a pair of simple, black framed, plastic reading glasses perched on the bridge of his nose and his long, raven colored hair brushing at his shoulders and falling into his eyes as his dark eyes scanned over the words on the pages before him. And, while she had to admit that she’d never seen him in glasses before, it was a good look for him. He was just as handsome as ever, his short, neatly-trimmed beard lining the firm line of his jaw and framing his full lips. His sun-bronzed skin and that smooth, undeniable Texan accent proudly boasted his southern heritage.

He glanced up as he heard her timid footsteps entering the room, those chocolate colored eyes locking on her and his lips curling up into a grin as he offered her a warm welcome, “Ahh… Zoey. Zoey Malone. Fifteen minutes early as usual I see.”

She didn’t miss the playful glint that filled those dark eyes. She knew from the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes that he was teasing her.

She offered him a smile, feeling her cheeks flush as she lifted both cups of cocoa, mumbling, “I um… I brought you a cup of cocoa. I wasn’t really sure what you liked, but it’s kind of chilly out there and I stopped in to get one for myself, so… I thought maybe you’d like one?”

It sounded lame, even to her own ears, and she found herself cringing inwardly. But she saw his lips twitch just before they pulled up into another smile.

His smiles were the greatest, all full lips and white teeth and tiny dimples that framed the corners of his mouth. Those smiles, though a simple gesture, were quite infectious, and Zoey found that she couldn’t help but smile back.

“It is a bit nippy,” he agreed as he reached out to accept one of the cups, “Thanks, Zo.”

She blushed at the little nickname, lowering her head to stare at her feet as she gave a nod.

“Come,” he told her, gesturing to the seat across from his with his free hand, “Sit down. Might as well get comfortable.”

Zoey nodded, moving to slip her backpack off of her shoulder and take a seat in the chair he indicated. She watched as the Texan who had been taunting her in her dreams for the past 2 months lifted his cup up to take a long pull from it. Her tongue darted out of her mouth to wet her lips, which suddenly seemed quite dry, as she watched his eyes drift shut. But when he gave a little purr as the rich taste of chocolate greeted his taste buds, she found herself crossing one leg over the other and clamping her thighs together tight.

“This is the best damn cocoa I’ve ever had, darlin’,” Jon Ramsey informed her, “Is that a hint of mint?”

Zoey’s cheeks turned bright red at the endearment he chose to use, but she nodded her head, stating, “Yes. It’s my favorite. I thought you might like it.”

“Where did you happen to find this little delicacy?” he inquired, quirking one brow at her as he took another pull from his cup.

“I get them at the coffee shop here on campus,” she answered, “It’s called Capital Perks. It’s over at the library, on the main floor.”

“Ahh…” he said, “Well I’ll have to start getting one of these before class.”

She couldn’t help but smile. It was nice to know that she could influence him somehow, even if it was just some small little detail of his daily routine. After all, while she’d never admit it to him, he had influenced her in ways she’d never told _anyone _but Jay about – and that was only because Jay managed to pry it out of her after she’d had a few too many drinks last weekend, which was cheating, as far as Zoey was concerned.

“I’m glad you like it,” Zoey murmured, glancing down at her lap.

“So…” her professor started, indicating that their official reason for the meeting was about to begin, “I’m afraid this is going to be a long and rather boring session.”

Zoey’s brows furrowed as she studied the 30-something year old Texan. He flashed her a grin, his dark eyes holding the same playful glint that filled his voice.

Zoey pursed her lips together to keep from smiling before she asked, “And what makes you say that, Mr. Ramsey? I quite enjoy your classes.”

That earned a deep chuckle from her professor as he shook his head, informing her, “Coming from any other student, I’d find that hard to believe. But, coming from you, Miss Malone, I can believe it. But, as I said, this will probably be a rather dull meeting. You have the best grade in _both _of my classes, but you didn’t hear that from me.”

He gave her a quick wink before continuing on to say, “You’re the best student I’ve had here at Turner Hill. I won’t lie, this professor gig was a spur of the moment thing, a request made from an old friend, and I didn’t expect it to go well. But then you came along.”

Zoey felt her cheeks flush and lowered her head to gaze down at her lap, letting her long, chocolate colored waves hide her face.

“You come to class early every morning, and you’re always the most engaged student in the room – in _both _of my classes. You have a hunger for learning like I’ve never seen, and your work makes that quite clear to see. You don’t hesitate to ask questions. You’re always striving to improve your work. The effort you put into each project, every paper, is reflected in your grades. It’s a pleasure to have you in my classes, Zoey, and I truly mean that,” he praised.

Zoey didn’t think her face could’ve gotten any redder.

Then he gestured to the pages before him and added, “Like this paper for my Behavioral Modification class. It was more detailed than any of the other papers I’ve received for that project. You’ve obviously put a lot of time and effort into this project. You included a documented record of your progress, right down to the exact amount of pages you finished writing each night and how long you were writing on those nights. I think it’s amazing that you’ve already managed to find your passion in life and that it’s something that you’re pursuing whole-heartedly. Most people your age are just now discovering what subject they really want to major in. In fact, most college students will change their major _three _times before they finally decide what it is that they want to pursue as a major. But you… You’re _way_ ahead of the game. And it shows by the progress you’ve made so far this semester, the determination you have to set time aside for writing each night after you finish your homework. It’s surprising that you even find time to write, what with classes and studying and such. So I definitely commend you for that, Miss Malone.”

Zoey glanced up at him, her amber eyes growing wide as the words fell from his lips. Was he really so surprised?

“I just… It’s something that I love,” she told him, “I don’t want to give up on it. And it’s like anything else. If you don’t use those skills for a while, you get rusty at it.”

He nodded in agreement, stating, “And that brings me to my next point. Your papers have only continued to get better for both of my classes as the semester progresses. This last paper you wrote for Sensation and Perception was grade A material, Zoey. Your usage of sensory details was quite impressive. It really helps the reader put themselves in your shoes, to see things and experience things through _your_ senses, and that was exactly what I was asking from you with this assignment.”

Zoey couldn’t believe her ears. She’d never received so much praise from any of her professors before. Sure, she usually made good grades, but she’d never had any of them shower her with so many compliments, _especially _in one sitting.

“I… Thank you,” she mumbled, feeling her cheeks flush once more.

“Well… I guess it’s time I fill you in on your grades…” he hinted, giving her a little wink as he told her, “Not that you have anything to worry about.”

Zoey couldn’t help but giggle at that, nodding as she found herself leaning forward in her seat in anticipation. She’d been hoping to get a peek at her grades after the last paper she’d submitted for both of his classes. Fortunately, he was one of the few professors that actually bothered to update the grade book online after each assignment was graded, rather than making his students wait until mid-terms, when grades were required to be turned in.

“Well… Let’s see…” her professor mused aloud, skimming across his computer screen with his index finger as he studied the numbers on it.

He reached out for the red pen on his desk and scribbled a figure onto her paper for her Sensation and Perception class. Then he did the same with her paper for her Behavioral Modification class.

“Those are your grades for my classes,” he informed her, indicating to the numbers he’d just scrawled onto her papers.

Zoey was shocked to discover that she was receiving a 97 in her Behavioral Modification class and a 99 in her Sensation and Perception class.

“Wow…” she muttered, her eyes growing wide as she studied the numbers.

“Expecting something different?” he asked.

“Yeah, actually,” she answered, her eyes meeting his once more, “I was expecting something much lower.”

“And why is that?” he inquired with furrowed brows.

“Well… I just… I’m a bit self-critical I suppose,” she replied, “I’ve never really been a fan of my own work.”

“Ahh… I see,” he said, “I can believe that. But you’ve earned those grades, Miss Malone. You’ve worked very hard for them, and you deserve them.”

Jon Ramsey watched as that pretty little blush tinted her cheeks once more. God it had taken every fucking _fiber _of his self-control to remain seated in his chair. It wasn’t right, the things that he felt for this young woman. It wasn’t fair, having to watch her walk into his class twice a day on Tuesdays and Thursdays, where she would sit for two hours per class, chewing mercilessly at her pen cap as she listened to him drone on about the human senses and how the brain perceived them or the ways that a human could modify their own behaviors or the behaviors of others around them.

She was temptation incarnate, from her head clear down to her toes. She had those long, rich, chocolate colored waves that fell down past her shoulders, tempting him to run his fingers through those silky locks or even wrap them around his fist. She had those big, beautiful, cinnamon colored eyes that he couldn’t help but picture peering up at him from between his thighs. She had those full, pouty lips that he had seen wrapped around his dick in countless late night fantasies he’d had over the past two months. Her breasts weren’t large, probably just a B cup, but they still tempted him with thoughts of filling his mouth with the soft, warm globes. And her ass! God her ass was ample and firm. It had tempted him – on _more _than one occasion – to fill his large hands with it. She had those slender legs that went on for miles and firm thighs that he’d imagined wrapped around his waist more times than he cared to admit.

But temptation was a dangerous thing, especially when it could cost him his job and, if he was unfortunate enough, maybe even result in having his teaching license revoked. He was her professor, and she was his student. He was meant to tutor her, not fuck her. She was only 21 years old, according to her student records, and he was 15 years her senior, putting him at 36 years of age. But she was so young, so beautiful, so innocent, if the blush that colored her cheeks as his eyes roamed over her face was any indication. She was bad for him, bad for his career, and he was _definitely _all wrong for her. But that didn’t stop his mind from entertaining thoughts of bending her over his desk and fucking her until she screamed. Or setting her on top of his desk and burying his face between her thighs, devouring her sweet little pussy until she was begging him for mercy. Honestly, either idea was quite appealing, as long as it resulted in her lithe little form soaked in sweat and panting as she lied limp on his desk, those bright, amber colored orbs fixed on him and _only_ him.

A strong surge of something akin to possession flooded through his system at just the mere _thought _of corrupting the beautiful young woman before him. Zoey was unlike anything he had ever seen. Her beauty wasn’t like that of the cover girls in the magazines plastered all over campus, their colorful ads boasting articles about love and sex to draw 20-something year old female readers in. Her beauty wasn’t skin-deep. No. While she was undeniably pretty, a natural sort of beauty that seemed to radiate from her very being, she was also at the top of her class.

Zoey had a hunger for learning like he’d never seen, a brilliant mind and quick wit, a pleasant sense of humor and a desire to help her fellow students. She was curious, always questioning, always striving to discover something new. She was fascinated by anything related to psychology. But she also had the very distinct writing skills of an English major. She was a rare gem, a diamond in the rough, compared to her fellow students and women her age. Hell she was more mature than some of the women Ramsey knew that were his own age! She was it. She was the real deal. She was every man’s dream. And yet she was _completely _forbidden, strictly off-limits to Ramsey and any of his fellow colleagues there at the college.

Before his mind could wander further, Ramsey dragged himself back to the present, clearing his throat and turning to look at his computer once more as he asked, “So have you put much thought into classes for next semester, Zoey?”

And there it was, that little slip of the tongue. He had to stop doing that, had to stop calling her by her first name. It was too personal. Calling her by her last name was yet another way to remind himself that the delectable young thing that was perched in the chair across from his desk was strictly forbidden.

“Well…” she pondered aloud, “Honestly, I think I already have most of my pre-requisites out of the way. I don’t think I have any of those left to take. I tried to fit them all in the first two years I was here. I think the majority of my remaining requirements are psychology and English classes. I thought maybe it would be a good idea to take two of each of those? Kind of try to balance out the work-load?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea, Miss Malone,” he replied, “You don’t want to stress yourself out too much, especially with the coming holidays that this semester will bring.”

She gave a slow nod at that but something in the look in those hazel orbs told him that she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the holidays.

“Not a fan of the holidays, huh?” he questioned.

“My family only gets together on the holidays now. We used to be closer but… I guess we all just kind of… drifted apart…” she mumbled, her eyes finding her lap as she let those chocolate colored waves frame her face, “Most of the time, holidays are a disaster…”

“I think most people would say that around the holidays,” Ramsey offered, chuckling in an attempt to lighten the mood, “My family is dysfunctional at best.”

Her lips twitched at that and he knew that she was fighting back a smile as she slowly lifted her head to meet his gaze once more.

“So is mine,” she stated, “Don’t get me wrong. Both of my brothers and my older sister call me at least once a week. And my dad keeps close tabs on me over the phone. But my younger sister couldn’t care less. She just wants to get out as soon as she turns 18. I don’t think she really cares where she goes. She just wants to get away from Illinois.”

“Sounds like most teenage girls,” Ramsey mused.

“Yeah. Our dad is a DEA agent. He was hardly ever around when we were growing up. Joel and Maddox got into MMA after high school. Maddox is a detective for Jericho P.D. and Joel opened his own mechanic shop. Trista just finished training school to become a cop. Dad’s tried talking Jenelle into coming here to Turner Hill, but it’s like talking to a brick wall. I don’t think she’ll ever go to _any _college to be honest, especially not one around here,” Zoey explained.

Ramsey’s brows rose at that. Zoey was one of five children but, to make matters worse, her father was a DEA agent, one of her brothers was a cop, and one of her sister was _soon _to be a cop. He didn’t like those odds.

“And your mother?” he asked, trying to distract himself from that little tidbit of information.

“No idea,” Zoey replied, “She skipped out shortly after Jenelle was born. I guess she got tired of dad’s hectic schedule and trying to raise a houseful of children by herself.”

Ramsey gave a slow nod. He supposed he could understand the woman’s line of thinking, but that didn’t mean it was fair to her children. Her mother reminded him of his own deadbeat dad. And that wasn’t a train of thought he wanted to pursue.

“If it makes you feel any better,” Ramsey told her, “I’m one of seven boys. Our mom raised us all by herself too.”

“Wow…” was all she could say, those hazel eyes growing wide.

He just nodded before hinting, “So… Next semester’s schedule? Let’s see what we can find in terms of some choices for you.”

“Sounds good,” Zoey agreed, scooting to the edge of her seat so that she could get a better look at the computer.

Ramsey pulled up the list of classes offered for the spring semester and turned the screen so that both of them could look at it.

“You wanna start with psychology classes first or English classes?” he inquired.

“I’m pickier with my psychology classes,” the little brunette admitted, a sheepish smile curling at her lips as she lowered her eyes to her lap for a moment, a slight blush coloring her cheeks, “Most of the time, English classes are all pretty boring. But I like to get into psychology classes that really catch my interest. It makes the semester go by a little easier if you know that you’ll have at least one or two classes that you actually enjoy.”

Ramsey nodded. He could understand that. It was a pretty similar concept for professors as well. He had certain classes he enjoyed teaching more than others, often because of the student participation or the course material that was being covered in a given class.

“Are you teaching any classes next semester?” Zoey asked, taking him by surprise.

“Actually, I am,” he answered, “I’m scheduled to teach five different classes next semester. Is there anything in particular you’re interested in taking?”

She perked up a bit at that, those whiskey colored orbs sparkling as she said, “Well, I’m _fascinated_ by abnormal psychology, but I find things like criminal psychology, cognitive psychology, and behavioral psychology to be quite interesting too.”

“Well you’re in luck then,” he informed her, “I teach Abnormal Psych on Mondays and Wednesdays from 11:00 to 1:00 and Criminal Psych on Tuesdays and Thursdays from noon to 2:00.”

“I’ll take them,” she was quick to agree, “Sign me up for both of them. Please?”

With a couple clicks of a mouse, he relayed to her, “It’s done. Now, English?”

“Um… Well… Do they offer anything in the way of British literature?” Zoey inquired.

“Let’s see…” Ramsey pondered aloud, his dark eyes skimming over the registry, “I see Shakespeare…”

“Eck!” came Zoey’s immediate response.

Ramsey chuckled, shaking his head, and said, “Okay. No Shakespeare then. How about a plain old British literature class? I’m sure they offer a little bit of everything.”

“What times do they offer it?” she questioned.

“Oh…” he sighed, “Never mind. It wouldn’t work with your Tuesday schedule. Well… What about world literature? That might be interesting.”

“I’ve already taken Intro to World Lit,” she stated, “Do they offer any creative writing classes?”

“You’re into creative writing?” Ramsey found himself asking.

He didn’t know why the idea was so surprising. She was clearly bright enough to write her own creative works, if her elaborate psychology papers were any indication of her work ethic and her attention to detail. And then there was the fact that she had documented her writing schedule in her Behavioral Modification paper.

“I _love_ to write,” she replied, “I’ve been writing since I was 16.”

And there it was, another hint of the dedication that this brilliant young mind possessed.

“I see. Well, let’s take a look then, shall we?” he said, typing a few buttons and pressing the Enter key to pull up their options.

Ramsey caught her nibbling at her bottom lip as those bright, amber colored irises skimmed over the listing of classes that were being offered the following semester, subconsciously leaning closer as he sank his own teeth into his bottom lip to keep himself from leaning out to bite that plump, pink lip.

“Well I definitely don’t want to take any of Santarelli’s classes,” she murmured, voicing her thoughts aloud.

“Oh?” Ramsey inquired, “And why is that?”

“I’ve had a few bad experiences with her in one of the classes I took as a freshman,” she answered, her eyes finding her lap as she relayed the information to him, “I went from a 92 in her class to a 73 in the last two weeks of class. She gave me a failing grade on a paper, even after she only gave me one day to redo what was originally a two-week long assignment. She was always very vague in her comments on papers and assignments that she handed out, so it made it hard to figure out what she was expecting of her students. And it was even harder to figure out what I did wrong on my papers or how to improve in the future. She even made me turn in a second copy of one of my assignments because her two year old son scribbled all over my paper with a crayon once she got it home. She said that it was _our _responsibility as students to always have a second copy of our assignments in case she needed another one. I don’t usually like to talk trash about professors, but I’ll never take another one of her classes after that.”

Ramsey’s brows furrowed at that. He didn’t know who this professor was but she sure as hell sounded very unprofessional on _many _levels.

“Are you shitting me?” he asked before quickly adding, “Pardon my French, but that’s bullshit.”

He watched as her teeth sank into her bottom lip once more, that pretty little blush coloring her cheeks as she simply shook her head, informing him, “It’s true. Unfortunately, she’s the head of the English department now. So she teaches like a fourth of the English classes that are offered here at Turner Hill, both on campus and online.”

While he’d heard of professors carrying on unprofessional conduct at different colleges, he’d never encountered a student that had informed him of any blatant wrongdoing on a professor’s behalf during his only semester teaching there at Turner Hill University so far. Of course, Jericho, Illinois wasn’t a very big town. With a population of 15,000 people, it wasn’t like it was Springfield or Chicago or even Peoria.

“Have you heard anything about Professor Lui?” Zoey inquired, those inquisitive eyes locked on him.

“I’ve had a couple students in here this week that said they really loved her classes. In fact, they signed up to take another of her classes this week,” he told her.

“Good,” she replied, “Sign me up for her Unlikeable Characters Short Fictions. I always loved writing about villains. They’re so much more fun than writing about your average Joes.”

“Oh?” Ramsey asked, cocking one eyebrow at her.

“That’s why I find criminal psychology so interesting. I love trying to pick their brains, trying to figure out what makes that person tick and what it is about them that makes them so different that they would think that it’s okay to go out and commit all of these horrible crimes. It’s not the crimes themselves that fascinate me. It’s the twisted inner workings of their demented minds, their perspective on it all,” she explained, “That’s why I find it much more engaging to write about characters that struggle with their own personal demons.”

Ramsey gave a slow nod. She was definitely an interesting one all right. And now he was left wondering just what kinds of stories this brilliant young woman wrote in her spare time.

“All right,” he said, “She offers the class from 3:00 to 5:00 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. You want me to sign you up then?”

Zoey nodded energetically, adding, “And her World Lit class from 2:00 to 4:00 on Mondays and Wednesdays.”

A few clicks of a button and Zoey was registered for her last class. Then came the part of the meeting that Ramsey was dreading most, the goodbyes.

“Well, thank you, Mr. Ramsey. I really appreciate all of your help,” Zoey said, reaching out to offer him her hand.

He accepted and she found that his hand was rough and worn, making her wonder what exactly it was that he had done before he’d come to Jericho to be a professor there at Turner Hill University. Of course, he came from Texas so it wasn’t too far of a stretch to imagine that he had probably worked or even lived on a ranch at some point in his life. His touch wasn’t unpleasant though as she slipped her small, delicate hand into his large one. His fingers were long and slender, his touch warm and welcoming as he accepted her hand into his and gave it a firm shake.

“It’s been a pleasure, as always, Miss Malone,” he replied in that thick, southern drawl that always seemed to make her weak in the knees.

God, she was such a sap!

Zoey nodded to him, mumbling a quick, “Likewise, Mr. Ramsey.”

She pushed herself to her feet and reached for her backpack as he rounded the corner of his desk, heading towards the door. She slung her backpack over one shoulder and turned to make her way to the door, gasping as she ran right into the man that had starred in more of her dreams than she ever cared to admit. His hands came up instinctively, wrapping around her arms to keep her from falling backwards as she was thrown off balance.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! I really need to watch where I’m…” she started to apologize before her eyes met his and she realized just how close they really were, her cinnamon colored eyes widening as her words caught in her throat.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, the beat so loud in her ears that she couldn’t help but wonder if he couldn’t hear it too. Her cheeks burned, a sure sign that she was, in fact, blushing to beat a tomato. And, to make matters worse, she couldn’t seem to put two fucking words together.

“I um… I should probably…” she stammered, gesturing to the door with her thumb as she struggled to put coherent thoughts together.

“You really should,” he agreed with a nod, as if knowing exactly what she was trying but struggling to say.

And yet his hands never moved from her arms, leaving her positioned between his firm body and the solid sturdiness of the door behind her. But, despite the fact that his lips told her leaving was what was best for _both _of them, his body conveyed a _completely _different message, every muscle in his body taut, his tall, lean frame coiled, almost as if he was ready to pounce. Those chocolate colored orbs grew darker as they flickered from her eyes to her lips and back, his own tongue darting out of his mouth to wet his lips even though the look on his face told her he’d _much _rather taste her lips than his own. God he looked at her like she looked at Ghirardelli’s chocolate when she was on her period.

“I can’t…” he choked out, his voice rough and strained even as he brought his forehead down to meet hers.

But, rather than pull away, rather than put the much needed distance between them that she knew would surely save them both from damnation, he dipped his head to mold his lips to hers. Zoey couldn’t help the muffled cry of surprise that escaped her, her eyes growing wide as her amber colored orbs fixed on his dark ones, watching as his eyes fluttered shut.

It was as if that one, simple sound set him off and, the next thing she knew, her back was colliding with the firm, flat surface of the wooden door behind her. A muffled cry escaped her as his hands slowly slid up the length of her arms to spear through her long hair, his large hands easily cradling her head as his lips pressed firmly against her own.

A low, rumbling groan coursed up from deep within his chest as the solid expanse of his chest met the soft cushion of her own. Her every curve yielded to the firm ridges that comprised his lean frame. His hands found her cheeks so that he could tilt her head back, the warm, wet muscle of his tongue slipping past his lips to tease along the seam of her own, and Zoey was lost.

She caved, voicing the most embarrassing noise she’d ever heard slip past her lips. A low, needy, pathetic mewling sound escaped her throat as her own hands found his sides, her delicate fingers grasping desperately at his sides as she struggled to find something, anything, to stabilize her.

Her lips parted even as his name slipped past them on a sigh, “Jon…”

And that one sound set his body ablaze, his testosterone soaring and his cock twitching within the confines of his dark washed jeans. His tongue traced her bottom lip first in a slow, lazy, wet slide before it swept over her upper lip. The sweet taste of her cherry chap stick greeted his senses even as the heady scent of her perfume washed over him. God she smelled like winter, like frosted cranberries and vanilla. Yes. So sweet, so innocent. And she was his… all his.

He dipped his tongue into her mouth, exploring the warm, wet cavern. She tasted like mint and chocolate, coaxing a low groan from him as her tongue hesitantly met his. Her slow, timid strokes against his tongue were like a clumsy first dance, hinting once again at that innocence that he had guessed she possessed. That innocence that now _he _would possess, and gladly so.

Ramsey teased her, tempting her with tantalizingly slow strokes of his tongue until she was bringing one hand up into his hair to fist her fingers in the long, raven colored locks and holding him in place so that she could properly pursue his tongue with her own. A low, throaty moan escaped her as she stroked the underside of his tongue with teasing little flicks of the tip of her own. Even for someone so inexperienced, she was a quick learner, her movements undeniably sensual. And she was growing bolder by the second.

She captured his tongue between her lips, sucking gently at first, until she coaxed a low, guttural growl from deep within his chest. Then she grew greedy, her other hand coming up to sift her fingers through his hair and help hold him in place as she sucked hungrily at the warm, wet muscle caught between those plump, pink lips.

Zoey felt one of his hands leave her face but quickly forgot its presence as his lips left hers to start blazing a hot, wet, sensual trail along the line of her jaw, slowly making his way down the slender column of her neck. A strangled moan slipped past her lips as his tongue lapped over her racing pulse, his teeth scraping slightly over the tender flesh there. It was then that she felt it, his large palm sliding between her slightly-spread thighs to cup the crotch of her jeans. The sound that escaped her then was unlike anything she’d ever heard, half whimper, half whine, and 100% desperate.

“Shh… Easy, darlin’…” he drawled, that Texan accent sounding _so _much sexier when it was heavily laced with his desire, “I’ve gotcha.”

“Please!” she whimpered, shifting her weight from one foot to the other as he increased the pressure he applied, slowly dragging his fingertips up the length of the seam that ran along the front of her jeans.

“Please what?” he asked, “Tell me what you want, baby, and you’ll have it.”

Her cheeks flamed a bright shade of red as she realized then what it was that he wanted. He wanted her to _say_ it, wanted her to tell him just what it was that she wanted, before he’d let her have it.

“I… I’ve never…” she whispered, her eyes trying to find the floor but growing quite distracted by the sight of his large hand gripping her between the thighs, the muscles in his forearm grown taut with the motions his fingers were making over the denim of her jeans.

“I know, baby,” he purred, his mouth at her ear now, hot breath fanning over her ear and causing a shudder to race down her spine, “I know.”

His fingers never stilled, continuing to draw those maddening patterns over her increasingly sensitive skin.

“I… I don’t know…” she murmured quietly, timidly, “I just… I want to feel…”

Ramsey nodded at that, his free hand going over to flip the lock on his door even as his occupied one found the button of her jeans, popping it open and sliding the zipper slowly down the track. His hands found the waistband of her jeans then and he stripped them down the length of her long, slender legs.

His motions were slow. He took his time as he stripped her down, his full lips brushing along each inch of creamy skin he revealed, blazing a path down the length of her thighs, clear down to her shins. When he finally reached her ankles, she toed out of her black and pink tennis shoes and stepped out of her jeans, those whiskey colored orbs locked on his dark ones as her chest rose and fell. She watched his every move, her eyes riveted to him in eager anticipation as he pushed himself back up onto his feet.

Ramsey’s hands found her ass then, his large palms cupping her ample cheeks and his long, slender fingers digging into her soft, yielding flesh as he hoisted her up onto his hips. She gasped in surprise but quickly wrapped her legs around his waist, locking them tightly behind his back to hold herself in place. Her hands found his broad shoulders to help balance herself as he carried her across his office.

Ramsey slid one arm underneath her pert little ass as he used his free hand to clear his desk, papers, essays, pens, and even his discarded glasses scattering across the carpeted floor of his office. When his desk was cleared, he set the object of his desire on the sleek, mahogany surface, his large hands finding the soft flesh of her inner thighs and slowly sliding up the length of them until his thumbs could brush along the edge of her panties.

His eyes lowered to steal a glimpse, discovering that she’d chosen to wrap herself in lime green lace, a color that suited her creamy flesh and those bold, amber eyes quite well as far as he was concerned. And, if he wasn’t mistaken from his earlier grasp on her ass, the lower half of her ass cheeks hung out of those boy cut panties in the back, a little fact that he certainly approved of.

He found himself wondering if her bra matched those sexy little panties, but that thought was quickly cast aside as he brought one hand to the center of her panties, the tips of his fingers skimming along the wet material as he traced her slick slit over the thin lace.

“Mmm…” he purred, the tip of his nose teasing along the shell of her ear, causing a shudder to race down her spine, “So _fucking_ wet… Is that for me, Zo?”

The moan that escaped her then, deep and throaty, sent a jolt right down his spine, his cock swelling in his jeans as he leaned over her and traced the length of her jugular. He followed it down the slender column of her throat, nipping and nibbling his way down to her collarbone, which sat just above the v-cut dip of her soft, gray, cotton sweater.

He latched his teeth onto her there, his lips sucking even as his tongue lashed over the sensitive flesh. Her hands found his hair then, spearing through the soft, dark locks and fisting her fingers in it. A quick glance revealed the fact that her eyes were shut, those plump, pink lips parted as she arched against him, pressing herself closer to his mouth, rocking herself closer to his skilled fingers.

“Jon…” she whimpered, “Jon, please…”

His fingers found the hem of her sweater then, hastily jerking it up and over her head to toss it onto the floor in a crumpled, careless heap. Then his mouth was back on her, this time working a heated path of wet kisses along the strap of her bra. He followed it down to the plunging cups that revealed half of those soft, warm, perky breasts to his eager mouth. God how he’d wanted to taste them, how he’d stolen glance after glance at them when his students had been busy taking a test or a pop quiz in class. In fact, it was the very reason he’d _continued _to give pop quizzes, because it was the only chance he got to openly admire the beauty that was Zoey Malone.

“So soft…” he murmured against her skin between kisses, his free hand coming up to slide under the lime green lace and cup her neglected breast, dealing her a firm squeeze, “So sweet…”

Her back arched, a moan spilling from her lips as she pressed herself more firmly against his hand on her breast. The fingers of his other hand found their way under the thin, lace barrier of her panties, deft digits easily locating the heat and moisture that permeated from her slick center.

She jolted with the first touch, his fingers faltering as she damn near shot right off of his desk as his fingers came into contact with her slick slit. The strangled gasp that left her lips had his cock jerking against the zipper of his jeans as he drug his fingers up the length of her slit, his lips latching onto her breast, just above the green lace of her bra.

“Jon!” she whined, her fingers fisting around the strands of hair she’d previously held loosely, tugging slightly as she rocked her hips towards his hand, eagerly encouraging his touch.

When he was sure he’d left his mark, easing back to admire the deep, crimson crescent that stood out in stark contrast against her pale, creamy skin, he brought his lips back to her ear, purring, “That’s it, baby… Say my name… You have any idea how fucking hard you make me when I hear my name spill from those pretty, pink lips?”

Zoey gasped, her amber eyes growing wide, and his dark eyes found hers as he took one of small her hands in his large one, guiding it down to the crotch of his own jeans to reveal to her that he was, in fact, rock hard inside of his jeans. And, though she really had nothing to compare it to, if she had to take a wild guess, she’d be willing to bet that he was sure as hell packing in that department.

His cock stood erect, long and hard and thick as it bobbed against her hand, eagerly seeking her attention. He closed his hand around hers, coaxing her to curl her fingers around his length and grip him in her hand, the only thing that separated them being the denim of his jeans. And the sound that escaped him as she dealt him that first, tentative squeeze, the raspy wheeze that slipped past his lips and into her ear as she attempted to close her fingers around him, caused a certain part of her anatomy to clench, fluttering against his explorative touches.

“Fuck!” he cursed through clenched teeth.

And that one, four-letter word had her arching against him, her body desperate for more as her inner muscles fluttered in anticipation. There was just something about hearing those naughty things spilling from those soft, full lips, those lips that were absolutely perfect, as far as she was concerned. It did the most deliciously sinful things to her, hearing him curse and murmur those filthy words into her ear. She’d had no idea what she was missing out on before. But now, she was sure that she could never go back to simply looking at him as her professor and her as his student. Now, she knew that she would always imagine him like this, hot and hard and panting into her ear. Zoey knew she was ruined, right then and there.

Slowly, she dragged her fingertips along the underside of his cock over the denim of his jeans, her amber colored eyes fixed on his dark ones as his eyes rolled back into his head before fluttering shut as a low, guttural groan spilled from his lips. Her eyes lowered to follow her motions as she began her curious exploration of him.

“Such a fucking tease…” he mumbled under his breath as she ghosted a single finger around the broad head of his cock, pausing to tease the sensitive slit at the very tip.

Her eyes found his then, discovering that they were open now. A fierce look filled those chocolate colored orbs as he gazed down at her, his own little exploration all but forgotten as she distracted him with whispering touches over his jeans, trailing her fingertips back down the length of him before she wrapped her hand around the base and dealt him a firm squeeze. The sound that escaped him then was nothing short of a primal growl, vibrating up from deep within him as he reached down to catch her hand in his own.

“That’s enough,” he told her, his voice deep and raspy as he drug her hand away from him, “I haven’t had my fill of you yet.”

Her brows furrowed as she struggled to process the meaning of his words. But he didn’t wait for her to catch up, his large hands finding her hips and yanking at her panties, tugging them down those soft, silky thighs and long, slender legs before he grabbed her by the ass and tugged her to the edge of his desk. His eyes never left hers as he dropped to his knees before her.

“Oh…” was all she could say, her eyes growing wide as she realized just what exactly he had in mind.

And, as ridiculous as it sounded, the first word that slipped past her lips when he parted her thighs and draped them over his broad shoulders, dipping his head to slide his tongue over her slick center in one long, languid stroke was “Oh!”

This coaxed a chuckle out of the long-haired Texan, his lips humming against her sensitive flesh, and she shot up off of the desk, a sharp cry of pleasure escaping her as all ten of her fingers speared through the dark locks that fell to his shoulders.

Zoey was amazed at the things that that wicked tongue could do to her. And the rasp of his beard, scraping along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs, wasn’t unwelcome either. She’d heard women talk about what it felt like to be pleasured by a man who was willing to use his mouth on her. But never had she had the privilege of experiencing it firsthand. In fact, Jon Ramsey was her first sexual encounter with a man _period. _And she was sure that he could tell, if the embarrassingly needy whimpers that escaped her and the slight tugs she gave his hair were any indication. She almost felt bad for him. What had started as a desperate attempt to keep herself grounded had quickly resulted in her tugging at his hair as her head fell back and her hips arched, pressing herself more firmly against that sinful mouth.

God the things that man could do with his tongue! He teased her first, slowly stroking his tongue over the length of her slit before he worked it inside of her. He fucked her with his tongue, plunging it inside of her first before slowly drawing it back out, almost as if he was trying to savor the flavor of her. He used his tongue like a spoon at times, drinking from her as a low snarl escaped him. But it was when he slurped at her that her cheeks burned bright.

She had never known anything like it, pleasure flooding her senses as her toes curled and some sort of tension seemed to build low within her tummy. Throaty moans spilled from her lips as she arched against his mouth, desperately craving his attention. She never wanted it to stop, not when he was practically _devouring _her as if she was the last supper. Hell the man didn’t even pull back for a breath, choosing instead to gasp and pant against her heated flesh, which only added more fuel to her fire.

One of her hands found his desk, steadying her even as she used her other hand behind his head to press him closer, a plea escaping her as she attempted to convince him to stay a while.

“Please!” she begged, the words all rushing out of her, “Please! God, it feels so good!”

Those simple words stroked Ramsey’s ego even as he stroked her sweet little pussy with his tongue. God she tasted so fucking good, so fucking _sweet. _And the best part was, no man had ever tasted her before him. No man had ever had her like this, her legs spread wide, back arched, pussy dripping as he teased her with his tongue. His hot breath fanned over her slick folds as he licked and lapped at her wet core, a snarl escaping him as her heady scent wafted up his nostrils, flooding his senses, along with her creamy musk. He knew that she would leave traces of that musk all over his beard, marking him and leaving him with her scent, her taste clinging to his lips.

His hands found her ample cheeks, pulling her closer even as he plunged his tongue inside of her wet depths once more, groaning as he drowned in her scent, her taste. She might have been a virgin, but she was all woman, and the finest one he’d ever seen. She was unlike anything he had ever experienced, overwhelming and intoxicating him. She was like the strongest drug, his cure and his addiction all rolled into one. She was his salvation and his damnation. She was everything, completely taking over his senses until nothing else was left. She was perfect, so fucking perfect. And she was all his.

He fucked her with his tongue, devouring her. He took deep breaths in through his nose so that he wouldn’t have to pull his mouth away, taking several moments to revel in the throaty moans he coaxed from her even as he drank her down. Only when she was right at the brink, did he ease his mouth back from her core to lave a heated path up to her clit, capturing the swollen little nub between his lips and sucking greedily at it. And he was rewarded by the strained whine that tore from her throat, her fingers tugging harshly at his hair as her hips jerked, spasming against his face as she voiced a strangled moan.

He watched it all, her perky little breasts rising and falling with each gasp she took in an attempt to fill her deprived lungs with oxygen, her skin flushed from her chest all the way up to her cheeks. But he never stilled his tongue, never eased back. Instead, he drank her down, basking in her sweet release until she fell into a crumpled heap on his desk. Then, and only then, did he slide his tongue over her one last time before pushing himself to his feet.

She gazed up him with heavy-lidded eyes as he slowly circled his thumb over her clit, working her through the last of her aftershocks. Her hips jerked, bucking sporadically against his hand until they stilled completely. Her pupils were blown so wide that he could barely see the rich, warm cinnamon of her irises. There was wonder in those eyes, awe and surprise and even a little admiration. But the slow, lazy smile that stretched across her beautiful face was all he needed to know that she was, in fact, _quite _satisfied.

“Thank you…” she murmured before blushing deeply, as if she realized just how awkward it sounded.

“Don’t thank me yet, honey. I’m far from finished with you,” he informed her, making those hazel eyes widen as he reached down to slide a hand underneath her back, easing her up into a seated position once more, and leaned in to crush his lips to hers.

He plunged his tongue into her mouth, giving her a little taste of her own musk. And he was surprised when she met him with a throaty purr as she fisted her hands in his hair, holding him close as she attempted to convey her gratitude through that heated kiss.

Her fingers had just found the buckle of his belt, fumbling with the clasp in her haste to get it open, when a sudden rapping on his office door drug them both out of their pleasure-induced haze. Zoey gazed up at Ramsey then with panic filling those doe eyes, her heart racing as she stole a hurried gaze around his room, pushing him aside and scrambling around the room for her discarded clothes.

Ramsey closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he willed himself to calm down. Surely the person knocking hadn’t heard what they’d been up to there in his office. Surely there was a logical explanation for their sudden interruption.

And that explanation announced itself in an all-too-familiar voice, inquiring, “Hey, Ramsey! You got a minute?”

“Ryder…” Ramsey muttered, tipping his head back and casting his eyes up to the ceiling as he drew in a deep breath of relief.

He looked to Zoey then, his hand gently wrapping around her arm even as she started past him to collect her backpack.

“It’s all right. He’s just a colleague,” he tried to reassure her.

But, rather than soothe her frayed nerves, her eyes only grew wider, her motions jerkier, as she hurried to slip one strap over her shoulder. The frantic look in her eyes told him that their moment was gone, lost in a moment of pure panic.

“I… I better go,” she hinted, starting for the door.

“Just a minute,” he told her, “We don’t want to raise any suspicion.”

She gave a jerky nod and moved to stand against the wall, just out of sight, watching as Ramsey ran one hand over his beard, erasing any traces of her, as he made his way over to flip the lock and pull it open just far enough to poke his head out.

“I’m in a meeting with one of my students. Can it wait?” Ramsey asked his long-time friend and colleague there at Turner Hill.

Ryder’s blue eyes grew wide and he gave a quick nod, taking a step back from the door.

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry! I had no idea,” he quickly apologized, “Yeah! Yeah, that’s fine. I’ll just catch you later. In fact, it’s nothing too important. I just had a quick question. I’ll call you. Better yet, I’ll come over later tonight. I’ll bring beer and pizza.”

“Sounds good,” Ramsey agreed with a nod, chuckling at his friend’s attempt at an apology.

He watched as Clint Ryder disappeared down the hall before turning his attention back to the skittish brunette in his office.

“The coast is clear,” he announced.

No sooner had the words left his lips than she was out the door with a curt nod and a brisk pace. He closed his eyes, shaking his head, and turned to close the door behind him, walking over to his desk. He fell into his chair, a sigh escaping him as his eyes found the fresh smudges where her ass had been pressed against the smooth, mahogany surface, not ten minutes ago. He let his eyes roam around the room, surveying the damage. Graded papers lay strewn across the carpet, essays lying half open, flipped to this page or that one. His glasses were broken, the glass in one lens cracked. Those would have to be replaced.

Then his brows furrowed as he felt something digging into his ass, and he reached back to tug the offending item from his back pocket, a groan spilling from his lips as he realized what it was.

Thin, green lace stared back at him, her scent taunting him as it wafted to him. He’d completely forgotten that he’d tucked them into his back pocket after stripping them off of her. He’d been in such a hurry to taste her that nothing else had mattered. Her taste still lingered on his lips, her purrs of pleasure still playing over and over in his head. He knew that, every time he closed his eyes, she would be there. And, though he would never admit it, he knew that she would _always_ be there, haunting him and teasing him with fleeting glimpses of her bare skin as she watched him with those amber eyes, begging him for more.

If they’d only had more time… He would’ve loved to have felt her cum around his fingers, to watch her writhe in ecstasy as she reached that peak for him a second time. But he supposed he had Ryder to thank for their untimely interruption. And now, he wouldn’t see her again until class on Tuesday, if she even bothered to show up after this.

Zoey practically ran across campus, her feet flying over the pavement in her haste to get back to the townhouse she shared with Jay and some of their other close friends. What normally would’ve taken her ten minutes to get across campus took only five and she was quick to unlock the front door and let herself into the townhouse.

Her hazel eyes darted around the kitchen and living area there in the small space she shared with her closest friends and roommates. She breathed a sigh of relief, slumping back against the door as her eyes landed on the note that Jay had left for her there on the kitchen table. None of the other girls were awake yet either. The coast was clear… for now.

When she’d finally caught her breath, she carried what was left of her cup of hot cocoa over to set it on the table, dropping her backpack to the floor as she plopped down into one of the kitchen chairs. With shaking fingers, she reached out to retrieve the note her best friend had left for her, her eyes skimming over the neat print.

_Hey hone,_

_I wasn’t sure how long your meeting would last so I decided to go ahead and make a grocery run. If you’re reading this, you beat me back to the townhouse. Hope your meeting went well. Hash is in the fridge!_

_Love ya!_

_Jay_

Zoey crumpled the note, her appetite having apparently been lost right along with her sanity, and pitched it into the trashcan there in the kitchen. What the hell had she been thinking, caving to her desire like some hormonal fucking teenager? God, she could be expelled if anyone found out! Or worse, Jon could lose his job and, quite possibly, even his teaching license!

“Oh God…” she moaned, pushing herself to her feet and gathering her cocoa and her backpack.

She needed to take a shower, needed to scrub the evidence from her body and clear her head. No one could find out about this. Not even Jay could know what took place between her and her professor. Because, if the wrong person were to find out, _both _of them were well and truly fucked.

With that thought in mind, Zoey trudged to her bedroom, unlocked the door, and gathered her things for a shower.

She turned the dial on the shower until the water was just hot enough to sting as it cascaded over her skin. She scrubbed at her skin until it was raw, leaving angry, red welts in the wake of her nails as she tried desperately to remove any traces of her professor’s touch. But her hands sliding over her skin only served to remind her that his touch still lingered in her mind, that his touch was better, _so _much better than her own.

And Zoey knew right then and there that she was ruined. Because there was no way in hell that she would ever be able to forget what took place in Jon Ramsey’s office. Nor would she be able to refuse him if he were to try to make another pass at her. God help her, she was weak. Never before had a man affected her like Jon Ramsey did. And now, she was surer than ever that no man could ever compare to him.

Jon Ramsey had ruined her for every other man. And now that she’d had a taste… Once would never be enough.

Zoey slumped against the wall of the shower as the first tears started to fall. She slid slowly to the floor of the shower as the silent tears gave way to heart-wrenching sobs, her slender shoulders jerking with each sob that tore from her body. She cradled her face in her hands as the dam inside of her crumbled and gave way, releasing all of her pent up frustration and anxiety.

“Oh God…” she choked out, “What have I done?”

She tipped her head back, squeezing her eyes shut against the spray of the shower.

“What have I _done?”_ she moaned, tugging at the wet strands of her hair.


End file.
